Dark Beauty
by StarBlazerM31
Summary: AU oneshot. Young Grima Wormtongue recieves a visit from a mysterious stranger one night in Edoras. Formerly named Do You Believe in Angels?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_ or any of the existing characters from _Lord of the Rings_, including Grima Wormtongue. Daemira is an original creation and is owned by Grace Reynolds (me).

* * *

The small boy sat near the window, his sad blue eyes gazing out at the vast plains of Rohan which seemed to spread out forever and shift up into the mountains. The firelight from the small house's interior played against his pale, pasty skin and thick mop of black hair as it danced over the quickly disintegrating wood. He let out several nasty coughs which were followed by a spurt of blood from his lungs. Living from day to day had become an intense agony for the boy. Each day became worse and worse until, even at age ten, he was almost ready to die. 

A book rest on his lap, turned to his favorite legend of Middle Earth: The Legend of the Flame Rider. Hours each day he spent reading the story over and over, and at times it helped him to ignore his pain. He was captivated by the painting which depicted the Flame Rider. A beautiful elfish woman completely dressed in black on a steed that walked on a cloud of flame. The boy wondered what it must be like to wander freely and without bond to any tribe or nation; to be free of responsibility and pain. Sometimes he wished he could strike out and live like her, but he knew that his current condition made that impossible.

The pale moonlight shimmered down onto the waving grasses beyond Edoras, and the boy took in the lovely cool breeze that kissed his face gently, slightly relieving the burning of his forehead. He placed his head on the sill, his eyes still focused on the vast plains ahead. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something. A small glimmer of light. He turned his head so that he could see more clearly, and was almost amazed by what he saw. It was a line of fire; as if a trail of burning feet were walking on the plains. He squinted to get a better look, and saw that at the head of the trail was a dark horse. It seemed as though the horse's hooves were making the fire. The boy's heart leapt. Could it be? No, it was impossible...but...perhaps a little look...

Trying to be as quiet as his frail body would allow, he slid out through the window and plopped to the ground. He cupped his hand over his mouth to drown out the small whine which accompanied the pain to his rear. Giving a careful look around, he stood up and started to creep towards the large wooden fence surrounding the city.

He had to be especially careful around the animal fences. Sheep, pigs, and especially dogs tended to get excited when someone was about at night, so he tried as best as he could to not rile them up. He crept past the last house, almost to the fence, but a deep growl startled him. The dog watching guard stared at him out of glowing yellow eyes, focused and unmoving from the boy's face. His heart sped up, and he took several extremely slow steps away from the animal, just enough to get out through a loose board in the fence and away from the animal's line of sight.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, he began to trudge through the waving grasses of the plains towards the line of fire. He couldn't think of anything that could possibly cause such a phenomenon. Surely the elders of the village would have discussed any clearing of grasses; the old couple who cared for him would always discuss any nightly occurrences, even if they were just chores. But nothing had been said, so the boy had only his imagination to guide him.

The cold wind lashed at his frail limbs and blew his hair wildly about his face, and he suddenly wished he had brought a cloak. But he was too far out to turn back now. He had started out on this little quest and was determined to see it through to the end. He paused and let out another series of horrid coughs, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth as it spurted forth. His chest ached with a terrible pain and he had to pause in order to catch his breath. The flames were almost in front of him. He had to hurry if he was to get any look at their source.

Minutes passed, and slowly, he made progress. By now he could clearly see that it was indeed a horse at the head of the flames, and his stomach became fluttery at the prospect of possibly seeing the rider. His excitement got the best of him, and he quickened his pace. Almost...almost...please...

A sudden growl from nearby made him halt. He looked about, trying to see what had made the noise. He didn't see anything...not even the shimmering moonlight revealed anything odd to him. Perhaps he was just hungry. That's it. It was his rumbling stomach he'd heard. Another sound quite similar, and another, and another told his mind otherwise. He looked around once more, fear welling up inside him; this time, he saw them. Wolves. Six of them, all staring at him, hungrily, teeth bared. The fear continued to build inside the boy's chest, and he found himself frozen. He tried to take one step. Two. Three. The wolves moved with him, their legs coiled, ready to pounce. The fear finally exploded out of the boy's mouth and he took off running, as fast as he could, despite the immediate and horrendous pain from his lungs. He screamed, hoping to get the attention of someone who might come to his rescue, but all too quickly, his body gave out. He stumbled to the ground, the wolves forming a circle around him, licking their lips and preparing for the final strike. Tears streamed from the boy's eyes as he realized that his death was going to come sooner than he thought, and not at the hands of the disease.

A wolf to his left crouched forward a few paces, preparing to lunge. The boy heard a sound like thunder, but mistook it for his own pounding heart. The wolf sprung forward; the boy ducked down, hiding his face...but the wolf did not strike him. Instead, he heard the wolf shriek in pain. He looked up in time to see the wolf go flying over the others and land hard on the far side of the circle. It got to its feet and began hobbling away in fear. The boy's head whipped around and saw a mighty black horse towering above him, steam blasting from its nostrils. The other wolves immediately charged, leaping at the great steed, trying to attack, but the animal reared up on its hind legs and let out a sound like that of a dragon. A single swing from the horse's rider with a long dark staff sent every single wolf flying in every direction, and landing uncomfortably on the ground. Those that got up ran away, whimpering. Those that didn't...well, their fate was obvious.

The horse settled back down on all fours and let out a loud snuff as if to say "And don't come back!" The boy was far too frightened to take his eyes off of the creature, but even more frightened when its rider jumped down from the saddle and began to approach him. The person was very tall, taller than anyone in Edoras. The face was hidden under a heavy black hood and the boy found himself wondering if this person was even human. He instinctively scooted back a little when the rider kneeled before him.

"What are you doing out so far at night, little one?" The voice that came out was like satin; smooth, rich, and very soothing. The boy couldn't help but stare; this person was a woman. A pair of moon-white hands came out from under the cloak and withdrew the hood. The old woman had said that the boy saw things that many people didn't; and what he saw now he could clearly define as true and unequalled beauty. Her face was oval- shaped and well-defined; it was faultless, with high cheekbones, a lovely slightly upturned nose, and full, voluptuous crimson lips. But the most striking trait was her eyes. They were very large with long eyelashes and clear orbs of the darkest gray imaginable; like that of an impending storm. Her pupils were cat-like slits; frightening, but oddly beautiful. Her hair was long; flowing below her hips, and was the color of black night. If it weren't for the ethereal glow cascading down from the moon, and shimmering across the silky tresses, the boy would only be able to see her face. Even though he was only a child, he knew that this woman was the most exquisite thing he would ever see. He simply stared, unable to move or speak; he might as well have been hypnotized.

The woman smiled, revealing pearl-white teeth. "Are you alright? Did those creatures harm you?"

The boy shook his head. "No..." he managed to say.

"That is good..." She tilted her head to the side. "What is your name?"

The boy cleared his throat. "Grìma," he answered.

"Are you from Edoras, Grìma?"

He nodded, but was suddenly overcome by a fit of coughs.

'This child is ill,' the woman thought as she observed the boy. She caught sight of the blood starting to dribble down the corner of his mouth. 'No, he is dying.'

She took off her cloak and draped it over his small shoulders. "The night is cold," she said. "And you are very sick. You should not be out. I shall take you home." She stood up, leaned over, and scooped the small child up into her arms. Oddly, Grìma felt safe there. As she carried him over to the horse, he took notice of her ears. She was an elf, though not like any he'd ever heard of. She sat him on the giant horse's saddle and jumped up behind him. She took the reins in one hand, and wrapped the other around Grìma so as to make sure he didn't fall.

"She is very fast, but don't worry. I've got you."

Grìma grabbed a hold of the arm that held him and the woman set the horse in motion. The sudden rush of air against his face caught him by surprise and he gasped in alarm. The distance to Edoras was closing insanely fast. Grìma had never before seen a horse so quick. He looked down to see the animal's feet. What he saw both shocked and amazed him. Bright flashes of fire, like that which issues from the striking of flint, were dancing under the hooves. He twisted around to look behind them and could see the straight line of flame that burned on the dry grasses. If he hadn't been so enthralled, he would have shrieked with joy. The thing he'd seen across the plains was this woman and her horse! But...could that also mean that...

They suddenly slowed down to a prance and then to a steady walk. The woman jumped off of the horse, took the reins and led it through the gates of Edoras.

"Where is your house?" she asked.

Grìma pointed to a quaint little home not too far away from the gates. The woman continued to lead the horse through the main street and stopped in front of the small structure. Immediately, the door swung open and the old woman and old man came out, looks of worry on their faces.

"Grìma!" the old woman exclaimed. The old man approached the horse and lifted Grìma off of the saddle. He looked at the young elfish woman, who stood with the horse, with wide-eyed wonder.

"Thank you so much for finding him!" the old woman exclaimed. "We had thought the worst..."

The elf bowed. "No need, my lady."

"Are you all right, son?" the old man asked. Grìma nodded and let out more coughs.

"Oh, you need your medicine," the old woman said. She looked to the elf and smiled. "Please, dear, come inside! It's awfully cold. Come warm yourself by the fire. You can leave your horse in our stable."

"Thank you, but I do not mean to intrude," the elf said.

"No intrusion at all!" the old man exclaimed. "You saved our little boy. We wish to repay you." He handed Grìma to the old woman and took the reins of the horse. "I'll put her away for you. You go on inside."


	2. Chapter 2

The elf woman watched as the old man led her horse away, then turned and followed the old woman inside.

The interior of the small hut was a tad cramped, but much cozier than anything she was used to. The hearth glowed warmly and she was compelled to approach the crackling flames and thaw out the chill in her long slender hands. She watched as the old woman gently placed the child on a bed located in the corner closest to the fire. She observed how the old woman gathered the blanket over his small shoulders and tucked it under him like a protective cocoon. She then leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Wait a moment, and I'll get your medicine," The elderly woman said. She turned and walked over to the hearth and drew a ladle of broth from the bubbling pot of stew hanging over the fire. She poured it into a small wooden bowl and proceeded to a nearby table where a pouch of herbs lay. She gathered a pinch of the strong-smelling leaves, crumpled them up, and stirred them into the broth. She then went back to the bed. Grima sat up and took the bowl as the old woman handed it to him and began to sip the hot liquid, the old woman helping him to steady the bowl, as his hands were shaking.

Not for one moment did the elf's eyes leave the boy. She saw him wince at the strong taste of the herbs. She saw him sputter and cough, tears streaming from his eyes at the pain in his chest. Needless to say, she was moved with pity. His coughing fit became more and more intense, and the old woman patted his back, hoping to help him end it.

"He needs water," she said, starting to rise.

"I will get it," the elf said, turning towards the water bucket on the table next to the herbs. She drew out the drinking gourd, and poured out the water inside. Making sure to be discreet, she withdrew a small vial from the pouch on her belt and poured out the crystal water inside into the gourd.

'This should help...' she thought to herself, handing the gourd to the old woman.

"Thank you, dear," the old woman said, and slowly put the gourd up to the boy's lips. He drank in between coughs; the water tasted sweet and felt unusually soothing as it slid down his aching throat. By the time the gourd was empty, the coughs had come to a stop, much to the relief of all in the house.

The old man came back in, quietly closing the door behind him. "That's one impressive steed you have, my lady," he said. "Can't say I've ever seen one like her. I gave her some fresh hay and a clean trough of water. She seemed quite thirsty."

"We had been traveling for quite some time," the elf replied. "I can't say that I blame her."

"Well, some good food and rest should do her good," the old man said, and took a seat by the fire.

The elf looked back to the old woman and the boy; Grìma had sunk back under the blanket and was beginning to dose off. The old woman stroked the side of his face with her hand and stood back up, leaving him to sleep. The elf stared at him for a few moments, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath, a ragged gurgle coming from his throat.

"What...is wrong with him?" she asked, even though she already knew.

The old woman sighed. "Consumption," she replied. "We don't know how he got it...he never played with other children much..."

The elf nodded. "It's...so tragic for one so young to be stricken with such an awful ailment."

"He's been through so much," the old man said. "It's not fair that this should happen to him."

The elf turned her head slightly to the side in question.

"He's not our real child," the old woman explained. "We took him in after his father died. Awful man he was. Treated the poor dear like manure. Always going off, drinking, and coming home and throwing Grìma about like an unwanted rag doll. Sometimes the boy would be screaming so loud that the neighbors would come banging on the door, wanting to know what was going on. His right eye, the cloudy one? His father did that to him. Threw hot ash in his face, nearly burned his eye out. He's lucky that he can still see out of it."

"Most of us thought that 'ol Galmod would end up killing him someday," the old mad added. "'Till one night the bastard went and drunk himself to death. Poor Grìma didn't have any other family...his mother died givin' birth to him, and there was no one else who would take him in. So we did." He sighed. "Boy's never been quite right...always scared, always stayin' off by himself. Won't play with the other kids; they pick on him anyway. Always likes to go off in some dark corner and read." He gestured to the book at the foot of the bed. "That one's his favorite. It's about the legends of Middle Earth. Whenever we catch him reading it, he's always on that one about the Flame Rider. You know that one, don't you?"

The elf nodded. "Yes...I do very well."

The old man chuckled. "When he reads it, his face just lights up like a candle." He laughed. "Once, I remember him saying that he was gonna marry the Flame Rider when he grew up."

The elf let out an amused chuckle. "Well, I can certainly tell that he is very intelligent. His eyes seem to burn with curiosity and thought."

"Aye, they do," the old man said. "He's sharp as a nail; he can usually tell what someone is thinking, or what they plan to do. Never seen a child quite so gifted."

The old woman ladled out stew into three bowls. "Yes, he's something. Now have something to eat, dear. You can sleep here tonight."

"I thank you, but it really isn't..."

"Oh nonsense!" she said, handing her a bowl. "It's no trouble at all, and we're in your debt. Now eat."


	3. Chapter 3

Night had progressed, and the elderly couple had gone to sleep in their own small room. The elf remained near the fire, close to the boy. Her eyes stared into the crackling flames, watching as they danced and leapt, continuing their slow destruction of the logs below. She pondered over Grìma's illness and its current state. She figured that she could rid him of the disease, if she acted properly. The Fairy Healing Water she had given him earlier had already started to take effect, as the gurgling and rasping in his breath had almost stopped. Perhaps one or two more gourds full would aid in stopping the illness completely. Healing Water was extremely potent; the best serum on Middle Earth. It had healed some of the worst illnesses without side effect, and the elf was almost certain that it would help Grìma.

She paused and glanced over at him. The course of the night wasn't going well. Already, she had become very attached to this young human; a mistake quite inadvisable for an elf of any kind. Humans died. That's all there was to it. She would prolong his life for now, but eventually he would die. The thought was painful, but she had seen many humans die in the millennia of her existence. He would be just one more.

Suddenly, the boy's eyes shot open and a gasp escaped his throat; he sat bolt upright, his breath heaving in and out of his small chest. The elf rushed next to him and sat on the edge of the bed.

"What is wrong?" she asked, taking his hand and giving it a small squeeze.

Grìma's eyes were wide and full of terror. "I saw them...orcs...thousands of orcs...they...came upon Edoras and started killing everyone in sight! I...I tried to run, but couldn't...one caught me, and..."

"Shh...it's alright," the elf said soothingly, stroking the boy's small hand. "It was only a dream, nothing more. You're alright."

His eyes focused on her and stared straight into hers. It was at this time that the elf was able to notice just how blue his eyes were. The clear one to the left was like a sparkling sapphire, or the dark waves of the ocean on a clear spring day. The cloudy one to the right was beautiful as well, showing the intensity and depth of his mind as it gazed upon her, unblinking.

"Can...I ask you something?" he said, a hint of timidness in his voice.

"Of course," the elf replied.

"Are...are you the Flame Rider?"

She paused, allowing herself a moment to decide what to answer. It was obvious by the anxious look in his innocent eyes that he was quite hopeful of a positive answer. She had never imagined that the legend would affect anyone as deeply as it affected this boy, and she almost wished that it wasn't true. But humans had shown themselves to be intrigued by what they weren't accustomed to. What came up in response was of no concern to her. Until now, that is.

Finally, she decided to answer, truthfully, for she could not find it in her heart to lie to this boy.

"Yes."

A smile, wide and full of excitement, spread across his pale face and he let out a small squeal.

"Shh, now, now," the elf cautioned. "You will wake your guardians."

"I...I've wanted to..."

"Shh, yes, I know," she said. "And I'm quite flattered." She smiled and ruffled his hair. "It is good to know that I'm thought of...in some context."

Grìma was clearly so excited that he could hardly keep still. "Where are you from? What kind of elf are you? I've never heard of any black-haired elves with cat eyes...are you deformed?"

The elf laughed quietly. "Inquisitive young man, aren't you?" she said. Grìma blushed slightly.

"Sorry..."

"No, no, it's alright. Let's see...I guess I'll give you some kind of answer. I am from very far away, a place you've never been. And I suppose you could say I am deformed...I am the only elf like me in the whole world."

"The WHOLE world?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She thought. "Well, I just am. I can't really say why."

Grìma pouted. "Why not?"

She smiled, and stroked the side of his face. "You aren't old enough to understand why."

"Well, will you tell me when I get older?"

The elf's expression changed. "I might not see you when you're older."

"Huh? But why? You...you're not going to leave, are you? Please don't leave! I don't want you to leave!"

"But I cannot stay, Grìma. I do not belong among Men."

"Yes you do! You can stay here with me, and belong here!"

She sighed and shook her head. "No, you do not understand. Men..." she looked about to make sure that no one would hear her. "Men would not like me. I am too different. I am..." She paused. "Nothing. Never mind."

"But WHY?" Large tears started to form in Grìma's eyes and the elf had to turn away in order to avoid that pitiful stare which caused her heart to pain.

"Because. I cannot explain why."

Grìma took on a look of angry defiance and grabbed her hand. "I won't let you leave," he said firmly. "I'll make you stay here..."

"Grìma," the elf said, prying his hand off of hers. "I told you. I must go. But I will stay with you until I leave. Will that make you happy?"

"No," he replied, sullenly. "I want you to stay forever."

She sighed once more and picked up the book, still lying at the foot of the bed. "You know the story by heart?" she asked, turning to the page marked by a leaf.

"Yes," Grìma replied, leaning forward.

The elf looked over the words and pointed out one sentence. "What does it say here?"

"That the Flame Rider travels from place to place, never having a place to call home."

"You see? I cannot stay."

Grìma's eyes became desperate. "Then take me with you!" he exclaimed. "I'll not take up a lot of room...I can carry your sword, and feed your horse...I can gather firewood, I can help you somehow! Please!" He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly, tears flowing. "Don't leave me!!"

'Dear God,' she thought as she held the boy, and stroked his hair affectionately. 'What am I to do?' The child brought forth feelings she had never felt before, and it was almost alarming. She could not take this child with her; he would be placed in dangers too terrible for even a grown man. And if anything happened to him...she would never be able to forgive herself.

"Poor, sweet child..." she said softly. "I know your pain. I know the terrible things you have been through in your life...I have experienced many of them myself. I know that you want someone to be with you, and care for and love you like you deserve. But right now, I am not the right person to do so. Allow the old woman and man to take care of you. Become a strong and intelligent man, and live your life as a model to others. I know there is a great future planned for you. You cannot attain your greatness if you are with me."

"But you're a legend..."

"And I wish I weren't. People wrote legends of me because I was strange and did not allow comfort or emotion to influence me. I fight orcs out of self-defense, not for the good of others. I stop thieves because I want to fight. I am a terrible person, Grìma. I do not want you to become like me."

"But you're NOT terrible!" Grìma said. "You're nice, and kind, and beautiful! I won't believe that you're terrible, ever! Not in a million years!"

A tear fell from her own eyes. "Alright, then," she said softly, still petting the child with the utmost tenderness. "All this excitement will make you even sicker. You need rest." She gently laid the boy back down on his pillow, and got up to get him more water. Once again, she slipped the Healing Water into the drinking gourd and handed it to him. He gratefully drank and immediately became drowsy. The elf remained by his side until sleep overcame him.

The sky was beginning to show a faint glow in the east when horse and rider made their way across the plains beyond Edoras. The city grew smaller and smaller, and the elf found herself stopping one last time to look at it.

"Another day, Daemìra," she told herself. "Another day."

As she continued on, she silently hoped that he would find the gift she had left for him.

Grìma woke with a start. He looked around the room, hoping to find her there, but the only person he saw was the old woman making breakfast.

"You're awake," she said. "You look well this morning! I didn't hear you cough once last night. That elf must have helped you somehow."

"Where is she?" Grìma asked, panic in his voice.

"Gone, I'm afraid," the old woman replied. "She must have left before we woke up."

Grìma jumped out of bed and dashed outside t the stable. The great black horse was gone. In a fit of anger, he picked up a rock and threw it against the stable wall. It wasn't fair! She'd gone without so much as a goodbye, and what's worse, he had never even learned her name. Heavy- hearted, he trudged back inside.

"There is something under your pillow," the old woman informed him when he entered. "A note, too, but I couldn't read it."

Grìma approached the bed and lifted up the pillow. Underneath, laid a pendant of some sort. He picked it up and examined it. It was a lovely piece of work; it filled his entire palm, and seemed to be made of finely treated silver. The design was very interesting, with intertwining vine- shaped coils wrapping around a large circular onyx stone in the center. He picked up the paper that lay under the pendant and looked at it. It was written in an unknown language; possibly elfish.

He sighed and held it towards the fire so that he could get a better look at the script...but something caught his attention. The moment the firelight touched the back of the paper, another message appeared beneath the original, this time in the language of men. It read: "Darkness conceals me, fire makes me strong. I am the night. I am the Shadow Jewel."

'What's that supposed to mean?' Grìma wondered to himself. He let out an exasperated huff. It didn't matter. She was gone. But...that didn't mean that she wouldn't come back...perhaps she had something important to do elsewhere. Maybe she needed to leave to help someone. And when she was finished, she would come back. Yes, that's it! She would come back, she had to! And when she did... He laughed to himself and plopped back down on the bed. He could wait. He leaned against the window sill, expectantly peering over the plains, searching for the tell-tale line of flame.

She would come back. She had to.


End file.
